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Thursday, October 13, 2011

Last nite Mr. G and I went to a haunted house called "Blackout". Like everything in New York, it's got a gimmick you gotta walk it alone (also like everything in New York, but I digress)

The waiver you sign beforehand also warns that you must wear a protective mask, will be bound at one point and oh yes, you'll encounter "Sexual and violent situations"

Quick reminder of the rules of Blackout: · YOU MUST WALK THROUGH ALONE. You will be prompted to do certain actions. Please do exactly as you're told. This is for your safety. · There is absolutely no speaking allowed inside. You can, however, scream as loud as you'd like.

"SAFETY" may have been the, ahem, safety word but from the moment I stepped into the dark room with a chair getting a full body massage from behind, the only word that sprang to mind was "yuck"

Ok I promise not to give away any "scares" but let's put it this way, if you haven't had a date in awhile, "Blackout" could suffice as a quick thrill. The sexual content you might encounter is actually all you encounter. Scares like so many creative concepts in modern pop culture are replaced with overt sexuality. Everyone is touching you, poking you, waving they bits around and as my grandmother would have said just "a little too much"

(Oh girl! Really?)

There was nothing scary about any of this, but I honestly did think about yelling out "safety" to end the ick.

One of the more pitiful moments was the room with a bucket ass naked actress chained to the floor. She's writhing around begging you for the key you just had to unpleasantly unearth from the preceding room. I kept saying to myself "Key, honey? You don't need no key, you need a new agent!"

I couldn't believe The New York Times called this disjointed string of gross outs "the extreme theater event of the year". But then a Grey Lady might enjoy a grope in the dark.